As I watch my mom garden, I think of all the activities I miss out on each day.
I watch the way her hands wrap around the weeds tightly, pulling their roots from the earth. I watch as she kneels on her foam mat, the color blending with the grass around her perfectly. Her face revealing her content at a chore well done.
As I watch my mom garden, the smell of the fresh dirt and cut grass reminds me of what I once was. I was once active, healthy, and mobile. While you would never have found me gardening, a hike, a walk, or a swim wouldn’t have been a stretch.
As I watch my mom garden, I remember what my weekends used to be like. They were filled like water to the brim of a glass with beach trips, picnics, potlucks, movies, and shopping expeditions.
But now I sit on this garden chair and look at my swollen knuckles and sigh. Gone are the days of invites, the calls, the texts, and emails. No cheery excited voices asking, pleading, to join the party. The only pleading going on here is the sort inside my head, hoping and begging to not be in pain when it’s time to stand.
As I watch my mom garden, I remember the once upon a time days of summer. The melting cones of shaved ice, the brightly colored bikinis on my pre-steroid weight body, the flirtatious sounds of boy meets girl, and the obnoxious barks of dogs gone wild in the park.
As I watch my mom garden, I remember a life I once lived, and can only hope I’m given the chance to live again.